rushing towards the skyline
by winschester
Summary: In a world where Amelia Pond is a huntress, she meets Sam Winchester.


_(A/N: I still need to finish season 2 of Supernatural and oh God, this is very, very AU. Don't know why I wrote this. Bring me the negative comments!)_

.

In a world where Amy Pond doesn't know the Doctor, in a world where Amy Pond tastes pain in a very,_ oh god, _very young age, in a world where Amy Pond is alone, something happens._ Something magical_, Amy's weak -normal- self thinks, Amy never listens to her real voice; there are things that she needs to do and there are things that she needs to ignore.

In a world where Amelia Pond is a huntress, she meets Sam Winchester.

She doesn't know how she ended up in America, she doesn't know why she has to fake an accent, she doesn't know why Sam stares at her like that. There's something in this small town that is interesting, new, something she doesn't know about. Yes, she's only 23 but her mind is 40 years old and god- she hates the rain.

So when she starts to ask about little Jamie's unexpected, shockingly awful death, she ends up sitting in the same table with a certain young Winchester. In this town, her name is Ariadne Singer, and his name is James Darlington. Oh, she knows he's lying, she does. She trained herself for this- she watched people for hours and days and weeks- he's definitely lying.

"You're new here, then?" James starts, sipping his coffee. She hopes it doesn't make her look too British- but she only drinks tea. He doesn't seem to mind.

She replies with a muffled 'yes,' and blows some air at her tea carefully because well, it's hot. She doesn't mind when it's hot enough, but when it's too much- oh it drives her mad. And her tongue, too, she realizes.

She knows it, she does. He knows she's lying too, his eyes tell it. She hates it when people know she's lying. She hates it when they start asking questions. She hates it when they care. She hates it when they think they now. Basically, she hates people. But she saves them anyway. She won't let something like that -the thing that happened to her whole town- happen again. Nope.

"Why are you here?" Sam's talking this time- his voice has changed. She knows he's talking as himself now, not some teacher that somehow ended up in this town that will start teaching soon. Huh. He's crap at creating.

"If I am trained enough and don't need glasses, same reason as you are." she says, she wonders if he's going to act like the teacher or the -possibly, maybe, she's not sure- hunter. He looks smart, smart enough, but she knows she's smarter.

At least she hopes so.

"So, you came here to teach." she chuckles when she places the cup on her lips. He's not going to admit any time soon- he's waiting for her. He might be wrong, he might just be revealing his identity to a girl that looks more Scottish than American. He's smart, she can say that.

"Enough with the teacher bullshit," she says, -in a very obvious Scottish accent- "I literally can smell it on you. The hunter's soul." she chuckles, because it's literally a joke -her life. She might be flirting with him, or she might in the future- she doesn't care.

"You're a huntress?" his voice is shocked but his eyes aren't- she knows he was considering the idea, he's just like her. _Too much _like her, actually, she realizes- and somehow she isn't uncomfortable enough. He surprises her. He impresses her.

"If you could actually read people properly, love, you'd have known that the first time you saw me. Nice car, by the way. Looks like your father's." she gives him a gift that people usually don't -can't- get, she smiles a little at him.

"It- it's -it was- my brother's." isn't he too into the conversation? He should be protecting himself with his words- she's too good with them for her health. Her mind works too fast for her mouth, sometimes. She calls herself a Scottish Stilinski.

"Sorry for your loss." she says, because she knows how he feels. She knows pain better than he does, but she kind of thinks that he's too young to feel such pain. He looks older than her.

"Yeah, right." he says, it looks like he's going to ask something but- _oh_.

"Amelia Pond." she says, a smile on her lips. He makes her want to laugh. Well, that doesn't happen a lot. Not usually. Okay, that never happens. He's different, and well, he owes her a real name.

"Sam Winchester." was that weakness in his voice? _Oh_, he hates himself just like she does- right. But he's doing something right. He trusts her. Not really.

"Well then, Samuel, this girl has a thing to catch, -and to kill- and really, no, I certainly do _not _need your help. Sam stares at her, and she stares at him, it's something like a competition. She's too stubborn to let go of his gaze and he's too confident.

There's something in his eyes that she doesn't know about- it's not familiar, she can't seem to find it out -oh _God_, he's desperate. He's too desperate- too sad.

"How old are you?" is a whisper, it's a personal question but she somehow needs to know- she needs to know about Sam Winchester. He has pretty eyes.

"22," he mumbles, closes his eyes. Something in her breaks, because she saw him in the town- he's always smiling when she sees him, and now the eyes that she called pretty are closed. She grabs his hand, squeezes it, lets it go.

"I think I'll leave this one to you." she smiles weakly, because he reminds too much her about herself. She puts her leather -she likes it, okay?- jacket on, and stands up.

"Good luck, Samuel. You'll need it."

.


End file.
